


one more night.

by sturidge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturidge/pseuds/sturidge





	one more night.

“This is the last time”, Stiles whispered to himself, rolling around the king-sized bed. He had said that to himself about a million times, and instead of getting more confident each time, he got weaker; in his mind, he already knew he'd be in that bed on the next night, or the night next to that, or whenever Derek wanted him, with his legs spread wide and his heart getting torn apart.

It was a vicious cycle, that one. They'd start well, but something would trigger a fight – something silly, irrelevant, or maybe even a pet peeve –, they'd end up throwing things at each other, Stiles would get pissed off and slam the door behind his back on the way out and go home, telling himself over and over it was time to stop.

Then Derek would call him.

Five minutes after, he'd have his underwear torn off by the Alpha's teeth, his cock begging for the attention only _he_ could give to it.

And when they were done - hours later, when Derek had punished him for his misbehaviours with long, deep trusts that drove him over the edge, never actually getting there - he'd wail against the pillow, hating himself for being so weak.

For loving that idiot so much.

His brain kept telling him it was stupid – sick – _wrong_. That that dysfunctional relationship would either kill him or drive him mad. That, hell, maybe Derek was only using him as a replacement or his cumsock.

The worst part was knowing it was _true_.

But if anything, when it came to Hale, Stiles had stopped using his head long ago – at least the upper head. Truth was, Derek's touch drove Stiles wild; more than any drug, more than any drink. His lips – his _teeth_ – against his skin felt like fire, burning through his veins like charcoal.

 In the morning after he would feel like hell, guilty consuming his soul completely, but at night all he cared about was Derek's hands gripping his hips tightly as he licked the curve of his spine, so deep inside of him it was impossible to tell where one started and the other ended.

And...

And hearing Derek whispering a rough "I love you" against his ear as he came made all the other crap worth going through.

“I made you coffee”, he heard Derek saying as he climbed up the spiral staircase of his loft, two mugs at hand. Derek handled him one, leaning forward and kissing him. His lips tasted like cream.

Maybe the other things – the little things; the time together, snuggling under Derek's sheets as they watched TV after the next fight eventually happened – were worth it, too.


End file.
